Clever Idiots

Posted by August 31, 2010

My Favorite Man Friend is the first person I turn to for suggestions on coping with and understanding the surprises of single life. A former classmate who was never one to mince words, my FMF is like my man version of Dear Abby (my Mabby for short).  

A recent conversation of ours commenced as follows:

Me: “Went skiing this weekend with a great guy. About an hour and a half into the drive he says, ‘it is really nice to be able to have such an intelligent conversation with someone.’ What does that even mean? How does one have an unintelligent conversation?”

FMF: “You know what it means. I’ve seen you struggle to pull nuggets out of those less fortunate.”
Me: “Damn.”

FMF:  “Tell me you’ve NEVER dated someone that when they asked your opinion you wouldn’t just give a 3rd grade response to move the conversation along because you knew that they wouldn’t understand or be secure enough to hear what you really thought?”

Me: “You are right. Even worse, sometimes it takes a while to realize that people aren’t as smart as I think, especially if they follow the better-to-keep-your-mouth-shut-and-be-thought-a-fool-than-to-open-it-and-remove-all-doubt philosophy.”

FMF: “Clever idiots…the worst kind.”

Me: “I often think they are the strong silent type.”

FMF: “Add charisma and poof… woman’s worst nightmare.”

Me: “I once dated a guy for 6 months before I realized he was a total idiot, which in turn makes me the bigger idiot.  Add charisma and make them fun and outgoing and good looking and I am done. If only my intelli-radar was as good as my gay-dar.”

FMF: “Don’t be too hard on yourself; most intelligent women are suckers for the eye candy. Take solace that you are not alone.”

Me: “According to my sister one of my biggest weaknesses is that I fall in love with people for who they can be, not for who they are.  So based on this conversation have two things to learn: 1. how to accurately assess intelligence 2. How to differentiate between what is and what could be.”

FMF: “As far as #1, I think that giving everyone the benefit of the doubt is admirable. In regard to #2, I think your sister knows you possibly better than anyone else on earth. You should listen, but remember diamonds come from coal. Not to say that most of the times coal is just coal.”

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Just a Sign

Posted by August 27, 2010

Stealing a slow down sign at 1 am on the way home from the bar seemed like a good idea. Sending photos of said sign to almost everyone in my contact list at 1:30 am seemed like an even better idea.

I considered the multiple responses I woke up to the next morning as evidence that I was right. Who doesn’t love a photo of a stolen slow down sign? Answer: my mother.

Oops.

(To be fair I did return the sign to its original location later the next day.)

As it turns out my single sense of humor and judgment is a little warped. Over the course of the past few months, in practicing being single, I have had to push the boundaries of my comfort zone to meet new people and try new things. I think (or know) that I may have (allegedly) uncovered and opened my own little Pandora’s Box.

Waking up next to this stolen sign, my thoughts were similar to someone who just realized they had a drunken one night stand. Who are you and what have I done?

At least it was just a sign.

Mental note: I am naughty. Check.

True, this is not new news, but as I travel down this path of single self discovery trouble-making wasn’t something I was expecting to bump into so quickly. For most of the last decade I spent the majority of my time and energy caring for my now ex. We weren’t exactly the boring couple, loving to go out and have fun with friends, but, as I am finding out now, going out as a we is very different than as a me.

Apparently I tempered and channeled my energies differently when coupled.

Wherein I used to be someone who would think about doing something, “I would really like to steal that sign.” I was actually doing it, “Pull over! I am stealing that sign!” It was as if I was no longer following the pace car. My governor had been removed and I was testing out how well I could bank the curves that inevitably were coming my way.

And with that I confiscated the sign that challenged my new life.

Was it to get it off the street? To free others from the demand to follow the rules? Or just an example of intoxication giving way to temptation?

I don’t know if it matters. But, slow down? Now?

Not a chance.

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Master Wordsmith

Posted by August 23, 2010

Have you ever had that kind of friend? The one where when you’re together, you become so engrossed in conversation that it’s inevitable at some point both of you will realize that you have no idea where you are, how you got there or where you parked your car?

Welcome to my life with my Favorite Man Friend.

My FMF is a former classmate. We have been entertaining each other and sharing advice on work and life for years, in fact, he’s the first person I turn to for suggestion on coping with and understanding the surprises of single life.

A recent conversation of ours commenced as follows:

Me: “Dating advice? Since I will be on the market soon…”

FMF: “Putting the cart before the horse aren’t we?”

Me: “Not really, but it is kind of funny. So this is my question today…Since I will be on the market soon, do you think it is too forward to say ‘I am an MBA looking for a long term commitment in a short period of time, so we can get married and have lots of sex and babies?’”

FMF: “No, actually sounds good when you put it that way. You are a master wordsmith.”

Me: “I have a feeling something like that may come out if I am out and about and have a little too much to drink.”

FMF: “Eh, if it happens it happens. So let’s review, you are intelligent, motivated, have a good career, are active and fun (i.e. have been known to party).”

Me: “I love the i.e., but can we add the word “allegedly?”

FMF: “No. But if you add the promise of ‘lots of sex’ you will have just hooked 99.5% of single, sane, and quality men.”

Me: “Thanks. Hopefully they will also be good looking?”

FMF: “Of course. That was obviously implied. But, if I were you, I’d be more concerned with finding someone who could stimulate my mind. Any idiot, well most idiots, can stimulate a body…”

Me: “You just wrote that…on purpose!?!”

FMF: “I am just saying…you’ll definitely have your share of options.”

Me: “Thanks. I hope these ‘options’ are easy to find. But hey, if that doesn’t work…is it okay to just tell people I am a flight attendant?”

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Sea of Panties

Posted by August 19, 2010

With baby in tow and gift card in hand, we strolled into the mall. My BFF was on a mission and was dragging her husband and I into Victoria’s Secret.

As someone who has always appreciated the appeal of adorable undergarments, I’m proud to say I’ve never owned a single pair of granny panties. I’m a Victoria’s Secret customer-for-life who prides herself on her commitment to matching her tops and bottoms.

Admittedly though, over the years the replenishing of my panty inventory had diminished as a priority. Regardless of what I wore, the man I recently left didn’t seem to notice and over time I had transitioned to buying out of necessity, instead of for nookie.

Staring at a thong-clad mannequin with legs up to my neck, I realized that if panties had best-if-used-by labels like canned foods, I would have thrown all of mine away.

I don’t have any panties that look like that.

An internal dialog ensued: I am going to be single. I am going to go on dates. Eventually I am going to make out with single people and I don’t own any of those kinds of panties.

In an attempt to calm my increasing heart rate I decided to conduct a mental inventory of each style currently on display. As my list grew, so did the lump in my throat. My plan wasn’t working. I was suffocating in a sea of panties.

I retreated to my friend and her husband and whispered, “I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know about panties. I don’t know how to be single. I don’t know how to date and I don’t know what single guys expect with girls or panties or when dating.”

Always observant, my BFF’s husband reminded me, “I am a guy. Ask me.”

I surveyed the room, pointed at a pair and asked, “Like those, do guys like that?”

He replied, laughing, “Uh, yea.”

I pointed at another, “And those? You like to look at a butt crack?”

“Uh, yea.” he repeated.

“And those? And those? And those?” I asked, pointing at others around the room gathering a sample size large enough to draw a sufficient conclusion from his male opinion.

“Yea, yea, and yea.”

Each “Yea” was like a tiny little dose of valium.

As it turns out, men like pretty panties.

Period.

Maybe being single isn’t going to be as terrifying as I thought.

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Shot of Stupid

Posted by August 16, 2010

I hit send.

In cyber seconds my email would populate the inboxes of friends and family members, officially notifying them of my decision to end my marriage. Since leaving my husband months before, I had already discussed my situation at length (read: ad nauseum) with those closest to me. But now I was ready to begin sharing with a second group of folks who were close enough to know the news, but would understand if such information didn’t come in the form of a phone call that starts out with an awkward, “I have something to tell you …”

As it turns out, one of the hardest parts of ending a relationship is the dissemination of information. Who do you tell? When? And how? Does Hallmark have an I-am-getting-unmarried announcement section? Is it appropriate to have my mother include it as a topic of this year’s Christmas letter?

Knowing the answer to both of these questions was “no,” I set out to share the news as best as I knew how, with a carefully crafted email explaining the ridiculousness of my soon-to-be ex husband’s behavior, the difficulty of the situation, and my decision to leave. Trying not to think about the reactions of those on the receiving end of an email with the simple subject line From Me, I turned back to my outlook calendar to assess my schedule and froze.

Of all of the 365 days in a year, I had chosen this day, today (repeat: of all days) to piece together my thoughts, pour out my heart and share my news. Really? Could I be so ridiculously moronic? Did Starbucks add a shot of stupid to my coffee?

Shaking my head, I sighed, accepting the fact that the day I decided to tell the world that I was taking on life as a single gal, was April Fools.

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